Harry Potter and the Game of his Life!
by Hippothestrowl
Summary: Harry's first school years seem drawn into a virtual game. Free of the burden of real consequences, he replays life how it should have been - fun! But what if it's real? Lighthearted humour with a twist.
1. Reload

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 **Chapter 1**

 **Reload**

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Departing Is Such Sour Sorrow

From his dormitory window, Harry gazed out bitterly at the students wending their way through the snow towards Hogsmeade station. Ron and Hermione were among them yet far apart: he with Lavender Brown's lip smudges still betrayingly dark around his mouth, Hermione with only a sad smile for company as she waved back at Harry. Would it be the same after the next school year when they all went their separate ways forever? A new pain added itself to his distress.

"Stupid prat..." he muttered to himself, and his breath formed a brief drab cloud that condensed to weep slowly down the icy glass. "She's obviously hurt but all he does is ignore her more, else grumble and complain."

His last glimpse of that bushy hair now fully frosted over, he turned away, surprised by his own emotions. He'd never thought of missing her – not till that portent of separation. Yes, she'd mothered him, over-smothered him at times, but she'd always been there for him. That would no longer be true in less than two year's time...

Wearily he stared at the books bulging out of his schoolbag. Snape had really piled on the Dark Arts homework this term – as if making up for the years he'd been hankering for the job. And four detentions through the holidays! This was not supposed to happen! He was _supposed_ to be spending Christmas at the Burrow! Even the Dursleys might have been preferable, but Vernon had written demanding he stay well away because they'd be holidaying with his sister, Marge.

"AAAAAAGGGH!" He yelled his frustration at the high vaulted ceiling and the room in general, but the bed chamber was empty, and only his cry echoed back at him. Five painful and dangerous years at Hogwarts ending in the needless death of Sirius – life couldn't get much worse.

An idea occurred to him. _Couldn't get much worse...?_ What if he just went home now anyway and took the heat after Christmas? What could Snape do? More detentions?

The silence of the school around him was an encouragement. On impulse, he grabbed his bag and, using the very spell Snape had been drumming into him for a week, drew his trunk after him. Down the stairs he raced, the travel chest flying after him. He could see the brightness of snow through the front doorway. Would he make the train in time?

"Potter, where'd you think you're going?" It was Snape in the Entrance Hall, of course. Had he been lying in wait?

Urgency can confuse or inspire. Words tumbled from Harry's lips that seem to completely bypass his panic. "Aunt Marge."

"What?"

"My relatives are staying with my Aunt Marge most of the holiday. They wrote demanding I come home to... take care of the cat."

"Cat? I never knew your family had a cat. Potter, if you're–"

"I was as surprised as you, sir," said Harry, thinking quickly. "But they can't take it to Aunt Marge's – she has twelve bulldogs."

"An outrageous lie! Do you take me for a complete–"

"It's the absolute truth, Professor!" said Harry with genuine sincerity, and glad that his flimsy pretence had at least this one backbone of fact which might carry the imaginary cat along with it. "Why would I invent something so unbelievable?"

Snape paused. Time was passing. The train would not wait.

"Show me their letter."

"What?"

"The letter from your relatives, I wish to see it."

"It's at the bottom of my trunk, Professor!"

"Show me!"

"Professor – the Hogwarts Express...!" Through the open door, he imagined he could hear the train whistle across the lake.

"Show me, Potter, or face more detentions."

Unsure whether to hurry or delay, Harry began pulling clothing out of his trunk. There was a letter there sure enough, but not one he wished to show Snape.

Minutes passed as Harry pretended to struggle with trapped clothing. Snape waited with surprising patience. Now and again he'd insist that Harry unfold a shirt or pull out pockets on a pair of jeans. _He's stalling me on purpose!_ thought Harry, all hope of making the train fading.

"What have you there, Potter?" He was pointing at a smelly, screwed-up paper. "Is that it?"

"Uuh... no, sir, that's a Christmas present from–"

"Unlikely! Let me see it."

"But, sir!"

"Now, Potter!"

Harry handed it over and it pulled apart quite easily between Snape's fingers. Maggots spilled out over the teacher's hands and down onto the floor. "Ugh! Explain, Potter! Why've you got–?"

"It's from Kreacher, Professor," explained Harry, stifling a snigger.

"Severus? What is this?" Dumbledore was descending the marble stairs.

"Potter claims his relatives have a cat and insist he return for Christmas to take care of it."

"Is this true, Harry?"

"Absolutely, Headmaster," he replied, fingers crossed beneath a pair of used underpants.

"Then, Severus, I see no reason to delay the boy." Dumbledore swept on towards the Great hall where the smell of breakfast still lingered promisingly.

"Thank you, sir!"

Snape scowled and watched as Harry made a long sweeping movement with his wand. " _PACK!_ And hurry!" The moment the lid shut he used the Locomotor spell once more and raced off towards the front doors.

"I see you have a rudimentary grasp of the basic spell, Potter. I expect you to demonstrate all the variations on your return of course."

Harry froze in the doorway. "Sir? You surely can't expect me to still finish all that homework at erm... home?"

"Naturally, after all, that is the purpose of home, is it not? You will, of course, have to serve the four detentions in the new year."

Once outside, Harry rushed breathlessly towards the station, every glimpse of his watch telling him he was already too late. His arrival on the empty platform confirmed it. Miserably he stood there in the cold, thinking of Snape sneering back in his room at Hogwarts. He'd known of course. _I bet he's already planning my detention for tonight..._

Unable to bear the thought of returning to be gloated at, Harry sat in the empty waiting room wondering what to do. What little money he carried might buy him a meal at The Three Broomsticks but not a bed for the night – let alone for the entire holiday. By mid-afternoon, that hot meal seemed more attractive and he walked into the village, mentally counting the Knuts in his pocket.

The tavern was busy with celebrating locals so there was no time for questions from Rosmerta. He ate slowly, resigning himself to the inevitable. Once finished, he waited as long as he dared hog one of the in-demand seats before leaving.

Slowly, Harry trudged back through the snow drifts in the late afternoon gloom, his trunk floating a few inches above the footprints he left behind him in the road that passed from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts.

 _Road!_

Quick as the thought, he stuck out his wand. There was a deafening BANG and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in a spray of white slurry.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is–"

"Am I glad to see you!"

"What 'choo doing 'ere? Miss the train? Wait a mo'. Aren't you that...? Ern! Ern! Guess 'oo we got 'ere again! 'E's 'Arry Potter as was Neville!" He turned his attention back to Harry. "You are still 'im ain' choo?"

"Erm, yes, I think so."

"'E finks so! 'ear that one, eh, Ern? Where to then? Leaky Cauldron, is it?"

"No, home actually – better make that Magnolia Crescent in Little Whinging."

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A Step Backwards

Four, Privet Drive was in complete darkness when Harry arrived somewhat annoyed at no longer daring to use magic to carry his heavy trunk. There was no answer to his knock on the door and he'd never been allowed a key of his own. The car was gone. Had the Dursleys departed for Aunt Marge's two days early? He sank down onto his chest in a black mood, thinking through his options. He'd hardly any Muggle money. The Underage trace denied him the use of a simple unlocking spell to gain entry into his own home! No windows had been left open and he was becoming hungry and cold. The ground here was still bare but the snow had followed the bus from Scotland, and occasional flakes drifted on the air, caught in the light from the street. By morning it was likely to be thick on the ground.

Feeling rather sorry for himself, he took refuge in the garden shed, whose inner door latch he'd long since mastered with the aid of a wire coat hanger he kept buried near the hedge. A sigh escaped his lips. There was no power, no lighting, no heat, and no food. Slug slime glistened on the wooden stool next to the bench and he rubbed it off with his sleeve before sitting down. Oh, for illumination! Instinctively he reached for his wand... then sagged back in despair. Without magic he was worse than useless.

A glitter of light near the window caught his eye. An aluminium ladder hung there on the wall; should he break an upstairs window to get into the house? He found a sack of something rather smelly, tipped out the contents, and a few minutes later had scaled the ladder up to his bedroom window. Pressing the sackcloth against the pane to muffle the sound, he hit it hard with a half-brick from the shrubbery.

 _KER-ACK!_

He waited in the following silence, expecting neighbours to pour out of their houses to investigate, but they must have all been huddled around their noisy TV sets to be bothered. Perhaps his own guilty conscience had made the break-in seem louder than it had really been.

All that was soon forgotten once the heat was switched on and, with feet up before the Dursleys' own TV set, toasty warm, he was slurping hot soup and dunking biscuits in a mugful of tea. Satiated, he dozed off on the couch soon after with potato crisp packets and empty plates and dishes lying about the floor around him.

Reality did not set in until the morning when he looked at the mess he'd made and thought of the broken window upstairs, as well as the bagful of homework that Snape had assigned him. Even the sour teacher had conceded that Harry had managed the basic Locomotor spell, but only a few months ago, Dumbledore had used that same charm to animate the statues at the Ministry to protect Harry from Voldemort. Might Harry become so advanced one day?

Spurred on by the memory, he decided to leave any tidying up until after Christmas, grabbed a pottery donkey off the mantelshelf, then went up to his bedroom. An icy wind was blowing particles of snow in the window. Harry shivered, pulled on a sweater, then taped cardboard over the hole in the glass where he'd reached in to open the window. If it were not for the stupid Underage Trace he could have repaired it easily. That's when it occurred to him: how was he to master the different forms of the Locomotor spell if he couldn't practise wand magic outside of Hogwarts!

For an hour he studied the theory behind the Locomotion charm: _Locomotor animates spatial matter by varying static time in accordance with... blah, blah, blah..._ Harry waved his wand at the pot donkey to memorise all the moves without the incantation, but the empty house became more oppressive as the day wore on. Was this any way to spend the day before Christmas? All alone and trying to learn defensive magic homework without the use of a wand? Whatever he did, at home or school, his life was not getting any better. At least he had a life, he thought morosely, as painful memories of Sirius falling through the veil rose once more within him.

He divided up the morning between homework, eating, and television – mostly the latter – but by the afternoon his interest had flagged and he sank back on the couch feeling even more down in the dumps. What was he to do? If he owled Ron it would seem cheeky to beg an invitation to The Burrow at short notice, especially since he'd have to take with him so much homework.

Dragging himself back to his bedroom he resumed his efforts. It was becoming a nightmare. He knew the wand movements perfectly but what use was it if he daren't cast the spells!

He tried to shake off his melancholy and, stuffing his wand into the side pocket of his jeans, decided to raid Dudley's room where his eyes immediately fell on his cousin's PlayStation. Harry had never been allowed near it, but had occasionally watched from the open door when Dudley was completely absorbed in slaying monsters.

Most of the CDs were littering the low table around Dudley's own TV set, grubby with fingermarks and scratches. Harry picked out one of the few games still in its case and in good condition called _Kick Ass Supreme Sorcerer_ and began to play, but within half an hour he began to realise why Dudley had left it alone: it was frustratingly difficult.

Determined to do better than his cousin, Harry angrily struggled on, spraying goblins and demons with spells that crackled and sparked from his virtual on-screen fingertips, but always being defeated by the endless waves of monsters that kept attacking him. Now he understood Dudley's rages, for he felt it too. The game seemed unfair; as fast as he made progress in one direction, or gained a new spell, the enemy seemed to increase in ferocity and power! Why couldn't he be supreme and kick ass like in the title? It didn't help that his repeated homework practice was still trying to go around in his head like a steam train around a circular track: _Locomotor, Locomotor, Locomotor..._

"AAAGGGHHH!" In a fury he flung down the controller for the dozenth time, and for the thirteenth time he picked it up again.

"Just one more go..."

Provoked almost to breaking point, he didn't notice that as he sat cross-legged on Dudley's bed with the controller in his lap, his right hand was resting on his wand...

"Must break through... Must break through..."

 _GAME OVER!  
THE HOBGOBLINS ARE TOO STRONG!  
YOU ARE DEAD, PATHETIC NOVICE!  
TRY AGAIN? Y/N?_

Harry screamed his frustration, " _PIERTOTUM LOCOMOTOR!_ " and flung the controller directly at the PlayStation. There was a blinding flash of many colours, the TV exploded and disappeared, the PlayStation along with it. For a moment, Harry thought he felt his knuckles graze his wand as it slipped out his pocket. Where was it?

Fearfully, he scrabbled around on the bed and then on the floor, searching for it. Perhaps he'd left it in his room? Yes, that was it, he'd been doing his homework practising the spells and left it there, hadn't he? Only as his shoulders relaxed did he begin to notice how odd he felt physically: sort of frail and light and... shrunken. As he was crossing the landing, he froze. Voices! Downstairs! The Dursleys had returned! Had they yet discovered the mess in the lounge?

"Boy! Get down here!" bellowed Uncle Vernon.

Harry sighed and descended the steps.

His uncle was stood in the hall waggling an envelope in the air. "NO MORE RUDDY LETTERS!" he bellowed and, seizing Harry by the arm, he dragged him towards the cupboard under the stair. Only then did Harry realise how huge his uncle was. He flung him as easily as a puppy into the cupboard and slammed the door.

In a daze, Harry stared around him. It was like a replay of his earlier life: the old mattress, his toy soldiers on the little shelf, even the old rock which had been his only friend when he'd been four years old! Incredulous, he picked it up. He'd first discovered its curious shape while weeding in the garden, crying pitifully from the painful scratches on his hands and knees. He'd hidden the precious stone from the Dursleys, kept it like a pet in his cupboard. Now it looked as ridiculous as fossilised dragon poo. Hadn't he finally thrown it away when he was about to start a new life at Hogwarts?

"He's not going and that's final!"

Vernon was still ranting in the kitchen about letters and owls and... Harry stared at his little hands as realisation dawned. Cupboard! Toy soldiers! No PlayStation – because it hadn't been invented yet! He ran his hands over his face, feeling how young he was. Everything was the same as in 1991 – except one thing: his scar was gone. How could that be?

With a struggle, he recalled the past half an hour. He'd been angry – no, in a furious rage! There'd been a burst of accidental magic the power of which he'd never expressed before – but he'd been touching his wand. Instinctively he reached for his pocket. He had no wand yet! And all of his sorry life's frustrations had been released in one moment – at the PlayStation! And he'd shouted something: the most powerful animating form of the Locomotor charm!

Had he somehow fallen into the game? Or animated it into reality? Was it still playing and his personal life mixed within it? Or had something of the game affected reality? _Locomotor something, something stupid matter something static time, blah, blah..._ Was he really back in 1991 and had to live his miserable years all over again? To suffer those agonies as if once wasn't enough!

"NNNNOOOOOOO!" Sparks crackled from his fingertips. The cupboard door burst open and was flung across the hall. His little body was sizzling with enormous energy.

"What the hell do think you're doing, boy!" Vernon stomped into the hall, blustering and turning puce in the face with anger.

"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" roared Harry, rolling out of the cupboard and swerving to avoid the big man. But he hadn't needed to. Uncle Vernon was stood staring in confusion. His mouth was moving but not a word came out. Harry recognised some of the profanity being mouthed but could hear nothing. For once, Vernon Dursley really had shut up.

Harry stared at his fingers. The vibrant power could still be felt within. Had he really brought his own life inside the _Supreme Sorcerer?_ Would his troubles never cease! Was he doomed to repeat five years of misery in a pointless video game?

He pushed past Vernon into the kitchen where Aunt Petunia and Dudley were sitting at the table staring at him, mouths agape – but he could see Petunia's annoyance building in her expression. He shouted the first spell that came into his head: "Stupefy!"

His aunt and cousin were thrown from their seats onto the floor where they lay motionless. Vernon strode silently by him, mouth quivering with rage.

"Stupefy!"

Vernon joined his wife and son on the floor.

For several minutes, Harry stood and gaped at what he'd done without even a wand, yet no underage warning had been delivered. Either the Trace only applied to wands or perhaps it added his sixteen years to his ten. _Who cares!_ A smile appeared on his face. The sun was shining. It was summer. If this was just a game, then he was going to damned well enjoy it!

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Put In Their Place

For the next hour, Harry experimented with the magic available to him. He was entirely limited to the spells he'd already learnt, but now could use them more fluently, more powerfully, and he could perform them with his hands. He was free of magical restrictions!

Nor did he need to actually move his hands except for the most powerful of efforts. Even _Imperio_ on his aunt and uncle needed barely a flicker of his fingers.

"You and Aunt Petunia will sleep in Dudley's second bedroom," he instructed his uncle under the Imperious curse, "and put Dudley in the cupboard. I'll take the master bedroom and Dudley's old room including all his toys."

Obediently, Uncle Vernon set to, moving the contents of one room to another, while Dudley wailed. "Why can't Harry stay in the cupboard? Why should I have to–?"

Harry said, "Because you're a fat ignorant, stupid prat, Dudley."

As Dudley advanced with clenched fists, Harry cast a weakening charm to slow his cousin down. It was not a fair fight. Ten-year-old Harry's blows were not powerful, but so many landed on the enfeebled Dudley that he backed off in confusion.

"Well done, Harry," Aunt Petunia heard herself saying, "the flabby pig deserved a good thrashing."

Harry left them to it; he had a lot of thinking and planning to do. If the game was to be played yet again, he was determined it would not be so frustrating as last time.

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Hagrid Arrives

On the afternoon before his eleventh birthday, Harry was lazing back in a hammock on the lawn with Vernon fanning him and Petunia holding a tray of iced drinks and biscuits. Surrounding him were fifty beautifully-wrapped but as yet unopened presents. Dudley was pruning the hedge in the background, frequently glancing towards his cousin, his eyes seething with jealousy.

"More grapes please, Auntie," said Harry, holding out his hand and snapping his fingers.

With a wooden grimace upon her face, Petunia obliged – she had no choice.

"When are you going to open your presents, Harry?" whined Dudley, as he checked his chores list then began scraping paving stones with an old toothbrush.

"Dunno, maybe later, maybe tomorrow, who knows? It's the anticipation that's so enjoyable don't you think, wondering what's in each one? For instance, that big one might be a new television for my king-size bedroom, and that hamper is probably full of doughnuts and chocolate cake."

Dudley groaned and scrubbed harder; he'd been compelled to skip both breakfast and lunch and his only drinks had been the sweat off his brow.

But at dawn the next day, Hagrid arrived to find Harry apparently fallen asleep exhausted upon a wide sweep of sharp stones. His hands were black and bloody as if he'd been gathering them by hand and collapsed there.

"Harry? Is that you?"

Harry moaned dramatically as he tried to get up on his hands and knees. Right on cue, Vernon blustered out of the house. "What are you doing, boy! Back to work or I'll thrash you within an inch of your–"

With two great strides, Hagrid stepped forward, blocking the way. "You lay one hand on Harry an' I'll knock the teeth out of the back of yer throat and into the next garden – an' you after 'em!"

"But the freak deserves a lesson!"

Harry cringed and whimpered. "Please don't lock me up in that dark cupboard again, Uncle. Look, I've scrubbed the path with a toothbrush like you told me and–"

"Now listen 'ere, Dursley, yeh great prune," thundered the half-giant. "From now on you'll treat young Harry better if you know what's good for yeh!"

His glare was enough to drive Vernon back inside the house. Hagrid turned his attention back to Harry.

"You tell me if he tries anythin' like that again', Harry," said the giant.

"Anyway, a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here – I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry_ written on it in green icing.

Harry looked up at the giant. "Erm... not wishing to be rude but... who are you?"

The giant chuckled. "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"Yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course," Hagrid added.

"Hogwarts? No, Auntie never told me anything about that."

Hagrid roared with annoyance. "It's an outrage!" But eventually he settled down and explained that Harry was a wizard. He gave him the acceptance letter, and Harry asked where he could buy all the items listed on it.

"Ah, tha's why I'm 'ere yeh see? Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

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Grin Got at Gringotts

The rest of the day was much as Harry remembered it in his real life. At Gringotts, Hagrid looked positively green as their cart rattled precariously down the rails to get Harry's money, and he was actually groaning when they proceeded to Vault seven hundred and thirteen. "I think I'm gonna be sick," was all he could mutter.

"Stand back," said Griphook, their goblin escort. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years if the customer doesn't access it during that time," said Griphook, with a rather nasty grin.

The goblin turned his back and stood aside while Hagrid stepped into the vault to pick up the grubby little package that lay on the floor and tucked it deep inside his coat. He didn't notice the little pottery donkey that walked in behind him and headed for the shadows.

After Hagrid came out again, the goblin turned to wait for the door to close, which it did within the minute – leaving the pottery figure inside, much to Harry's relief.

"We always check they close themselves properly, Griphook sneered. "Security is priority. Nothing is left to chance."

Hagrid said to Harry, "Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me while we go up again, it's best if I keep me mouth shut,"

Harry kept quiet and hung close to the giant's arm to express what little sympathy he could. It also made it easier to pick his pocket and swap the packages. The petrifying curse on the little donkey in the vault would complete the other part of this quest, he grinned to himself.

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A Stealthy Visit to The Burrow

On returning home, Harry got Vernon to convert the guest room into his own personal storeroom for books, potion ingredients and the like.

His uncle breathed, "No need for Marge to visit ever again. Magic is far more important," but there was a glazed, faraway look in his eyes as he did so.

Harry soon had him scraping bats' eyes and chopping up frog intestines while he prepared a new variant of an old potion. The quest to be solved was not only how to stop Ron arguing with Hermione but to lessen his abrasiveness to others too – such as Ginny whenever he saw her with a boyfriend. Harry realised he had the perfect solution.

He'd always considered that love potions were way over the top. Their effects were far too obvious to a bystander, and short-lived as well; a decent dose of Amortentia might last only twenty-four hours or so. What the potion lacked was subtlety and endurance. Wizards needed to learn from Muggles about slow-release medicines.

Within the first few days of August he allowed his potion to harden to a thick sludge. With a silver knife he cut out three pellet-sized globs, gave them a hard coating, then wrapped them in greaseproof paper. Time to pay Ron a visit.

The Disillusionment spell he cast upon himself was as good as the invisibility cloak, and far more freeing. A silencing charm enabled him to slip into The Burrow, and soon he was searching Ron's room. A tiny sound alerted him: Scabbers was sniffing the air! He'd forgotten about the rat.

After putting Wormtail into a long sleep and bundling him up in his pocket, Harry resumed his investigation of Ron's personal effects and it wasn't long before he found the gift brought for Ginny's birthday the next day: it was a box of sugar candies. He knew it was for her because Ron had only eaten one and replaced it with the screwed up silver paper wrapping in the vain hope she wouldn't notice. What a prat!

The next part could have been tricky but he'd practised the Imperious curse on the Dursleys while they were asleep in case anything went horribly wrong, so he was quite confident. With a smile he raised his magic fingers and pointed them at the snoring Ron...

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Sirius Freed

A few days later, the Daily Prophet announced the release of Sirius Black. Apparently someone had owled a heavily-Stupefied rat to the Ministry with a note informing them that it was Peter Pettigrew. He'd had a lot to explain but none of his excuses prevented him receiving the Dementor's Kiss. Harry decided to let Sirius finish his long convalescence in St. Mungo's before seeing him. It would be an emotional meeting for both of them and Sirius needed to be strong.

Another article also held Harry's interest. Several cursed patients who had been bed-ridden since the first war, had suddenly recovered. Had all of Voldemort's curses been broken when his mind became petrified? It was certainly a kind of deathly condition that gripped the Dark Lord. What other dark magic might have been broken?

By the end of the month, Harry was content. The game was playing out with _him_ in control, not some stupid developer for the PlayStation! This is how video games _ought_ to be!

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _This fic is three chapters, done, dusted, and only needing a little polish, so will be posted weekly. Don't take it too seriously, it's just some lighthearted fun I dashed off in a few days while inspired by playing a brilliant but annoying video game with designed-in irritations. Why do they make games like that? I mean, life can be annoying so we play games to escape everyday limitations, right? Games are for enjoyment not annoyment! And that's how life should be. So, anyway, we got a free fic out of the ideas thrashing through my mind, so – in your face, Rockstar!_ :D

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

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	2. First Year Replay

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 _So far...While playing Dudley's Playstation, 6th-year Harry accidentally uses an advanced Locomotor charm and finds himself replaying his life from age 11 as if it were a game with wandless magic powers. He decides he might as well enjoy himself and uses the Imperious Curse to turn the tables on the Dursleys, and invisibly visits Ron with a mild, drip-feed love potion to soften his attitude. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 2**

 **First Year Replay**

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Fast Progress on the Hogwarts Express

On September the first, Vernon drove Harry to King's Cross very early because the boy wanted to check invisibly where everyone would be sitting on the train. He recalled that when he'd done this for real for the first time, he'd needed to walk to the far end to find an empty compartment, and Ron had been forced to do the same just after. Now replaying that same situation, if Harry could distance himself from Ron at the start, maybe Ron would not feel so overshadowed by Harry's fame, but see Harry as just another casual mate in the dormitory. They could have fun without the heavy drama. That was how Harry visualised the next quest anyway.

Hermione was another matter. Likely she'd get there promptly, and sure enough, as the station clock struck ten forty-five, he observed the Grangers arriving between Platforms nine and ten, looking rather confused.

"Hello, looking for nine and three quarters?" he greeted them warmly. It was amazing how free and fearless he felt with this gameplay – far better than Dud's frustratingly-stupid _Supreme Sorcerer._

"Oh, are you going to Hogwarts too?" beamed Hermione. She looked tiny compared to how he remembered her, but her self-assurance was higher than ever.

"That's right," said Harry, "let me show you."

She exchanged emotional goodbyes with her parents, then Harry pushed his trolley through the barrier to demonstrate how it was done. Hermione came through in a rush immediately after and laughed with relief.

 _Good start to this particular quest,_ thought Harry.

They introduced themselves to each other as they walked beside the train. He let Hermione pick a compartment where three other girls were already seated and wondered if it would be the same one as she'd had before. They helped each other hoist up their luggage into the racks then Harry sat down briefly with her before pointing at the empty seat on her other side:

"Could you save my seat and that other one too for my friend? I'll be back soon."

He stepped off the train and waited unobtrusively by a pillar for the Weasleys who he knew would be late as usual. The twins came charging through the barrier first, with the others following. Ginny was particularly tearful. Ron gave her a long hug goodbye. "I'll be back at Christmas, Gin! It's only a few weeks when you think about it quickly."

"Promise? And owl me everyday?"

"I promise." He gave her another hug and turned away, his face contorted with his own emotion.

 _How sweet,_ thought Harry, not at all sarcastically, and jumped back onto the train.

"Did you find your friend?" asked Hermione, looking up from a book when he rejoined her.

"I'm hoping he'll be along later," said Harry. "Lucky I bumped into you actually – I hate travelling with no one to talk to."

"Oh, yes," she said politely, and closed her book.

Harry visualised a sub quest checking off in his head, and decided to press on with his game plan. "I've been reading up on Potions, Charms, and Defence, myself," he said. "That's _Hogwarts: A History_ you've got there, isn't it? One of my weaknesses, I'm afraid."

"Mine too – oh, you mean...?"

"I meant I'll need help with history. Oh, have you picked your study buddy yet?"

"I didn't know they–"

"Oh, not wishing to be forward, Hermione, but would you consider partnering me? I'd support you in Potions and Defence if you'd help me with History."

"That sounds very sensible – if you're sure."

Two of the other girls looked curiously at Harry but said nothing. He recognised one as a young Susan Bones, and the one in pigtails might have been Hannah Abbott. The third girl he didn't remember.

"Has everyone decided which house they'd like to be in?" he said aloud to the compartment.

"I hope they don't put me in Ravenclaw," the pigtailed girl said rather timidly. "I'm not quick enough. I can work things out eventually but I'll look a fool if the Sorting Examiners ask questions in front of everyone."

"Don't worry – they won't," Harry said kindly, even more sure now that she was Hannah. "It's just a magic hat that sorts you, no problem. You sound like a hard worker so perhaps Hufflepuff would suit you. The hat takes your personal wishes into account. I'm going to tell it, 'Not Slytherin' and I'm really sure it'll put me in Gryffindor – that's what I want."

The girls visibly relaxed after that, and Harry felt he'd impressed Hermione too, but she also sounded a little envious. "You seem to have read an awful lot about it."

The train began to move off, and the change gave Harry a few seconds to think about his reply. "Not really. I pestered the wizard who delivered my acceptance letter for every scrap of information they don't put in books. I'm Muggle-raised you see."

Hermione's eyes widened with a growing sense of fellowship. "Oh, yes of course, I read about you. I am too. Well, Muggle-born in my case."

The other girls showed their interest then with questions aimed at Hermione's background, but the M word had alerted Harry to another problem he had not yet dwelt much upon. He murmured so as not to intrude on the chatter, "Excuse me for a few moments. I just want to check if my friend made it onto the train..."

In the corridor he rendered himself invisible again and headed down to the Slytherin compartment. There was Draco sitting with his friends. Sometime or other he'd be swaggering along with his cronies to aggravate other passengers. Without the support of his henchmen, Harry knew, the lone youth would not be so pushy.

He cast a couple of spells and watched as first Crabbe, then Goyle muttered vaguely about getting some fresh air and made their way out of the compartment. Harry followed them to the end of the carriage, past the toilets, to the side door. Looking slightly queasy, they pulled down the window and leaned out to breath deeply. Harry's fingers twitched...

Back he went, and took his seat once more beside Hermione. He discussed with her every subject in which she'd showed any interest, worrying if he was overdoing the friendship thing. But they had been friends, good friends, so surely... perhaps he'd better spread his good-naturedness around more. "Anyone learn any spells since they got their wands?"

The third girl, who everyone was now calling Lisa something-or-other, cast a Lumos charm, Hannah did a Point Me spell, and Hermione repaired Harry's glasses which had been damaged by Dudley the year before. Susan sent a tickling hex at Harry and he retaliated which lightened the atmosphere even more.

The door slid open. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry ordered a wide selection including a bag of self-flossing soft mint chews which he knew Hermione liked. While the girls crowded round the trolley, he took out the third love potion pellet from his pocket and kneaded it into one of the chews. _So far, so good._

He waited for Hermione to finish a chocolate cauldron then pretended to read the label on his bag of mints. "Oh, self-flossing, that's a good idea. Would you like one?" He held it out in such a manner that the doctored chew was on top.

"Thanks, I'll try it out," said Hermione, "though it's hard to see how a sweet can help."

"It's magic, remember? You'd be surprised how it might improve things."

Over the next hour, Harry could definitely tell Hermione was warming to him. The difference was subtle but significant. She was smiling more, and her gaze was increasingly on his face. This was definitely not the sniffy, bossy girl he'd first met on this train. Yes, the other girls drew her attention but always her main interest came back to him. Harry felt a warm sensation arising within him that had only happened with Cho Chang in his 'outer life' as he now considered it. _If this is only a game, who cares?_ He returned her smiles warmly.

The door opened again and a trembling voice said, "Anyone seen my toad?" It was Neville of course.

Harry admired his nerve – he himself would feel a right prat asking everyone on the train such a question.

Hermione said, "Sorry, no. Which way did you come from? I'll help you look if you want."

"Really? Thanks."

Anxious that he spend as much time as possible with Hermione from Day one, Harry blurted out, "Hannah, you could use your pointing spell!"

"How?" she frowned.

"Oh, it's..."

He persuaded Neville to describe his toad and explained to Hannah how to visualise it along with a variation of the four-point spell. Instantly her wand swerved to point forward down the train. She followed it with Neville alongside.

"That was clever, Harry," said Hermione, admiringly, "I didn't know you could use the spell that way."

"Yes, well, it's fifth-year really but erm... well I... I got some extra books for a little light reading."

She smiled.

The warm sensation rose up again deep inside Harry and he couldn't think what else to say. Fortunately, Hannah returned at that moment. She called back into the corridor, "That's alright – I was glad to help."

Harry jumped up. "Hey, Neville, why don't you sit with us? If you want to, that is?"

"With you...?"

"Yes, uuh... we're all making good friends in here. Come and join us. There's a spare seat there between Hermione and Hannah."

Neville took the seat gratefully and was soon in deep discussion with Hannah about the wood that had been used in her wand. "That's cherry, that is," said Neville, as he held her hand steady to examine it. "That means you're firm but pliant and erm... sweet."

Hermione leaned over ever so slightly towards Harry. Her breath was still minty as she whispered, "That was a really nice thing you did, Harry."

"Oh... yeah, well..."

With a face that was now radiating contentment, she offered him her very last liquid caramel delight. Even Harry knew that girls you'd just met didn't usually surrender their last delight unless they really, really liked you. Had he used too much potion? Or was the slow-release not slow enough? At least she wasn't sloppy and drooling like some of the victims of Fred and George's concoctions that he'd witnessed at school. There was nothing he could do about it now anyway; his version of the potion would last the entire life of the game. Yes, he told himself happily, it's just a game anyway.

"Harry," giggled the Lisa-something girl, "we were just wondering about your uuh..." She pointed at her hairline.

"My scar? It disappeared in time. Don't know why." And truthfully, he didn't. Perhaps the avatar he was in this game was an imperfect copy. Or maybe he was the imperfect avatar living _outside_ the game. Right then he didn't care. This was the happiest he'd been since... ever!

.

The Opening Feast

The Sorting occurred without change from his 'outer' life, much to Harry's relief, and he happily took his position beside Hermione ready for the feast. Neville and Ron were sitting opposite them with Ron in discussion with Neville, and Dean on his other side. Ron was saying, "Yes, it's a jolt having to leave family behind," he was saying, "especially a little sister. Do you think the school have spare owls?"

"You can use my owl, if you like," said Harry. "She's always glad of the exercise."

"Really? That'd be great! Thanks!"

He rose from his seat and Dean had to push him back down again. "Not now, Ron."

Nevertheless, he borrowed quill and parchment from Hermione and began writing. "So it's good and ready," he explained.

Harry shook his head in wonder as Ron's dinner grew cold in front of him.

Meanwhile, Hermione rabbited on about what books she'd been reading and when would they be likely to get their schedules, but somehow Harry didn't mind this time around. To him she bubbled and fizzed and the rest of the world was merely lit up around her.

Even her voice seemed softer. "Who's that teacher with the lanky hair? He keeps looking at you, Harry."

"That's Professor Snape," said an older boy with red hair who Harry knew to be Percy. "He teaches Potions, but everyone knows he's after the Dark Arts vacancy."

Harry's head whipped around. He'd forgotten about Quirrell. The Defence chair was empty.

"Dumbledore is desperate to find a replacement at such short notice," added Percy.

"Why, what happened?" said Hermione.

"Nobody knows. I heard Professor Quirrell was going to be our Dark Arts teacher this year. He went away on extended leave and didn't return when expected."

But Harry wasn't listening. In his head was a vision of Quirrell with Voldemort's face on the back of his head, two minds in Quirrell's body petrified together in the Gringotts vault for the next few centuries or so. Let someone else deal with the mess, not a child whose every hope and dream had been brought low because of a stupid prophecy. He'd suffered enough.

Dumbledore made no announcement about the third floor corridor being out of bounds, confirming to Harry that the headmaster had examined the contents of the package that Hagrid had brought back from Gringotts. _I wonder what he thought of my fossilised dragon poo?_ Harry chuckled to himself under his breath. The Philosopher's Stone was safely buried at home in the tried-and-tested wire-coat-hanger grave; perhaps he might use it one day to extend the game if that was possible. There'd been no Daily Prophet report of a break-in at Gringotts so Dumbledore had to think Quirrell switched it before Hagrid arrived at the bank, and assumed Voldemort must now have made the Elixir of Life. _Oh well, let him worry about it!_

However, there was a twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes as he announced, "And finally, there is excellent news for those of you who have been worrying that you might not have any Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons." –A groan went up from the older students as they realised what that would mean – "A replacement will be with us in the next few days after he has finished recuperating from an especially difficult ordeal."

"Sirius!" gasped Harry. "Has to be!"

"What was that, Harry?" said Percy. Everyone was looking now.

"Must be Sirius Black," said Harry. "He was dead, and now he is alive again."

"Ah, yes," Percy said knowledgeably, "Harry means he was falsely imprisoned in the living death of Azkaban but has been released to live a normal life again."

"Yes," said Harry, "that's exactly what I meant."

.

The Conscientious Brother

The boys' dormitory was arranged slightly differently to how it had been before. Neville's was next to Harry's but Ron seemed happier between Seamus and Dean. He was sat on his bed carefully writing out a report of the journey from King's Cross, the Sorting, and much of the conversation in the Great Hall. Now he was describing the bed chamber. "Harry, what's a word meaning cosy but spacious?"

"Just put 'cosy but spacious', Ron."

"Oh, yeah."

"Don't miss getting to the owlery before curfew. Mine's a snowy-white. She'll answer to the name Hedwig if you call her. Just tell her I said it's okay."

"Just got a few more sentences..."

When he finally made his dash, Dean said, "There goes the most conscientious brother I ever heard of."

"Brother, yes..." murmured Harry as he fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

.

A Pain-Free Year

As they entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, Harry could not help but notice Neville's eyes carefully searching the Hufflepuff table. Following his line of sight, Harry could see the top of Susan's head.

Harry stood up. "Hermione, let's sit with the girls from the train. Coming, Neville?"

"Uumm..."

"Are we allowed to?" said Hermione.

"There's no specific rule against it, but wandering around during meals is frowned upon."

The hubbub died to a hush as they joined Susan and Hannah. Susan looked pleased but Hannah seemed embarrassed. Harry manoeuvred Neville next to her so he could be with Hermione. As the noise level rose to normal levels again, it was noticeable that a few other students moved across to different tables – all except Slytherin. Harry looked over there. Draco appeared thoroughly miserable on his own. _Good._ thought Harry, with a malicious smirk as he murmured, "Best game I ever played."

"What was that, Harry?" said Hermione as she reached for a melon meringue surprise.

 _Boy is she going to get a jolt!_ thought Harry. "Hogwarts is the best. Everything's the absolute best."

Hermione smiled as she mouthed the meringue she'd scooped up "Whoaaaaaa!" Her eyes spun a little, then the afterglow hit the back of her throat. "Woooooo!"

"Good?" said Harry.

"It's brilliant, Harry," she said through the juicy steam rings that billowed out between her lips, "but I might need another of your mints to bring me back to Earth afterwards."

"That's magic!" Harry said happily, biting into a crispy-bacon sandwich.

Susan and Hannah were listening to Neville describe the plant that had produced their moonflakes. Over at the Gryffindor table, Ron was searching the ceiling for the first sign of owls. He dropped his spoon and leapt to his feet waving excitedly when the first birds began flying into the Great Hall, but it was to Harry that the leading owl zoomed.

"It's from Sirius," Harry said after opening the delivery. He read in respectful silence for a while then confirmed to the others that Sirius Black was to be the new Dark Arts teacher.

"He wrote to you?" said Ernie, from beyond Susan.

"He's my godfather," Harry said proudly.

When Dumbledore rose to speak after they'd all eaten, he first congratulated the students for showing initiative in their inter-house unity. Neville flushed slightly and tried not to look at Hannah.

"But now, it is my sad duty to inform you of a terrible accident that befell two of our would-be fellows. On the journey here yesterday, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, no doubt feeling the excitement of their impending stay at Hogwarts, took it upon themselves to refresh themselves by leaning out of a window. It is believed one of them accidentally opened the door and they fell out as the train was passing over the central span of one of the highest bridges in the country. Their injuries were serious enough to require a long stay in St. Mungo's. Hopefully, Master Goyle may, with the aid of crutches and two wooden legs, join us next year, but young Crabbe, who has permanently lost the ability to hold a wand straight, will not. Our thoughts are with their families at this time."

 _Oops,_ Harry thought, and a sober expression crossed his face as he wondered if they'd get to see a 'TRY AGAIN? Y/N?' message.

Draco Malfoy was never the same after that. His strut had departed with his bodyguard's limbs. Even Neville stood up to him and returned more of the few insults Draco felt obliged to spit out. The Remembrall incident did not reoccur and with Harry's magic fingers dancing around, Neville became quite a good broomstick flier, while Draco kept falling on his bony arse before he even left the ground. Ron gave Draco a particularly hard time if they crossed paths, and Harry had merely to look down on him with scarcely a smirk before Malfoy would find an excuse to be elsewhere in a hurry.

Even in Potions class, Draco kept his head down. Harry had learned to do likewise but for a different reason. He completed every first-year potion and test within a sensible margin, even deliberately including minor blemishes so as not to make Snape suspicious. He also persuaded Hermione not to volunteer answers to the professor's questions in class and to sound doubtful when asked directly.

"Don't give him any ammunition. Show no interest. The more you interact with him, good or bad, the more chance of punishment. Save most of your effort for OWLS and NEWTS because he is not the one who tests you on those, and they are the ones that really matter."

The approach worked. Snape simmered rather than snarled. Without a target, he felt like he was clawing grease when he attempted to start something.

The school year passed smoothly. Harry never visited the Mirror of Erised. Nobody sold Hagrid a dragon's egg nor did anyone drink the blood of unicorns in the Forest. The game was good.

By June, Harry and Hermione were spending almost all of their time together, either studying or in long conversations about their varied interests, and their futures. At the end of the school year, he eagerly accepted Hermione's offer to stay with her family for part of the summer.

.

Summer With The Grangers

Harry was looking forward to meeting Hermione's parents afresh as he'd scarcely spoken to them in his own reality. With Voldemort out of the way, Harry saw no reason to stay with the Dursleys. Anyway, Dumbledore had not told Harry anything about remaining at 4 Privet Drive – in fact had never spoken to him at all. But to be careful, Harry visited the Dursleys once to get the approval of his legal guardians in case the headmaster asked. They gave it willingly without needing the Imperious curse, and he Obliviated them of those memories so they seemed their normal selves.

He also requested the now-unused Vault 713 be assigned to himself and he hid within it the Philosopher's Stone in a plain carton amongst a hundred similar containing a variety of cheap paperweights, then mixed the lot with a wide range of Aunt Petunia's junk items: snowmen, glass bric-a-bric, and plastic ornaments. It was amusing to see Quirrell frozen in the act of reaching down to grasp the donkey. The awful smell that used to emanate from his turban was absent – petrified with the body – which reminded Harry that even the effects of the victim's magic were nullified. Flitwick had taught in his old 6th year that the Secret Keeper, Olgath the Impenetrable, had refused under torture to divulge an address to a dark wizard who had then simply petrified him, thus negating the enchantment. All Harry needed to do was visit the vault once a decade, and the goblins would leave it alone.

Having put his affairs in order, he took the Knight Bus to Elmbridge where Hermione lived.

"So this is the young man we keep hearing so much about," smiled Mr Granger as he greeted Harry.

Hermione's cheeks flamed and she busied herself stirring the teapot. "Daaaad! I owl you about lots of people at Hogwarts!"

Harry tried to rescue her. "It's because of all the surprising things that keep happening around me, I guess – lots to talk about."

"How intriguing! Sit down and tell us, Harry, while I pour," said Mrs Granger.

"Well, there's... uuh..." Harry was used to disasters and disruptive events occurring at every turn but Mrs Granger's question drew his attention to how smoothly his year had passed. Was there nothing worth related except how pleasant each day had been. "Mmm... I..."

The Grangers were staring at him expectantly.

"Well, like meeting Hermione for one thing." That admission was merely embarrassing yet diverted their attention, so he ploughed gamely on. "I mean, new school, new people – I was dreading being trapped on the train with the worst kind of soandso bore imaginable, but the exact opposite happened and we quickly became best friends, didn't we, Hermione?"

Mr Granger raised his cup. "Well said, Harry."

Hermione positively glowed and for a moment her hand seemed to reach out to his – then she lost her nerve. Harry saw another sub-quest almost, but not quite, ticked off in his mind's eye. He didn't mind; in a game you can always try again.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I guess you figured out that in this fic, Tom Riddle's curse on the Dark Arts job has been broken by his petrification? Well, it saves me having to remove Sirius at the end of the year – not that Sirius is in this much at all but I needed someone to replace Quirrell. It's a funny old 12-month curse when you think. Why not one term/month/day/never! I mean, what was in JKR's head? Probably her story already had a different DADA teacher every year so she felt the need to support the oddity, or simply did it for extra fun._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	3. Playing The Game

.

 _So far...While playing Dudley's Playstation, 6th-year Harry accidentally uses an advanced Locomotor charm and finds himself replaying his life from age 11 as if it were a game with wandless magic powers. He decides he might as well enjoy himself and uses the Imperious Curse to turn the tables on the Dursleys, and mild love potions on Ron and Ginny to make them more considerate of each other. On the Hogwarts Express, Harry uses the same mild love potion on Hermione to make her like him more. After a smooth first year in which Voldemort is petrified forever, Harry spends the next summer at the Grangers. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 3**

 **Playing The Game**

* * *

.

The Bad Sickle

Four days of pleasant company with the Grangers passed before Dumbledore turned up like a bad Sickle while they were on a day trip to Brighton. His tweed Muggle suit looked most odd amongst the holidaymakers.

"Headmaster?" said Hermione, who was the first to see him buying an ice cream cornet from a nearby vendor.

"Ah, Miss Granger, I do hope I'm not intruding?" He smiled at her parents who were anxiously rushing forward to determine who this queer stranger was.

"It's okay, Dad, this is Professor Dumbledore – our Headmaster."

Harry, who had been buying some saucy picture postcards at a nearby stand, prepared himself, assumed a really good puzzled expression, then rejoined the group.

"Harry, it's you I came to see. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

"Uuh... yes sir – we were just going to find the beach. Would you like to join us?"

"A wonderful idea," said Dumbledore, licking caramel swirl off his fingers.

When Harry first saw the wide expanse of the sea, he was genuinely delighted and astonished; it made the Hogwarts lake look like Liquorice Wand drool. Leaving his trainers and socks beside their deck chairs, he headed for the water's edge to have a paddle.

"Walk with me, Harry." Somehow, Dumbledore was right beside him, dogging his footsteps.

Harry's head jerked around. "Sorry, I forgot. I've never seen anything like this before!"

A grey eyebrow arched upwards. "I'd have expected your family to have often holidayed on the coast."

"Oh, they did." Harry kicked and splashed like a five-year-old as they strolled, determined to make the most of the situation. It was a game after all, wasn't it? He felt freer than he ever had in normal life, free to do and say most anything so long as it didn't break the main quests.

"I see," said Dumbledore, with a frown. "Perhaps they are not the most caring of–"

"Caring?" Harry stopped in his tracks for a moment. "Perhaps you don't know, but my real parents are dead and I have to live with my aunt and uncle. They're loathsome and evil and cruel. They hate magic and see me as a freak."

"That is... regrettable," said Dumbledore as they resumed their walk. "But it is the Dursleys about whom I wish to speak."

Harry stopped again. "You know them?"

The Headmaster nodded and the wind and waves seemed to fall silent around them, as if a dome had descended to cut off the sounds of the world. "You know, of course, that Lord Voldemort killed your parents?"

"Yes, I read about what You-Know-Who did in a book last year."

"Hagrid did not mention it?"

"Hagrid? The subject never came up. I found out by accident. My aunt and uncle never tell me anything. Nobody does. They've wasted eleven years of my life."

"That is unfortunate. I can tell now that you have suffered grievously."

Harry shook his head. "No, it doesn't show – not the real pain. Especially the despair of not knowing what's going on."

"Perhaps I can help you there, Harry. You see, when your mother died, she sacrificed herself for you. Her blood evoked a magical protection that lives on in your Aunt Petunia."

"Protection? From what? You-Know-Who is dead."

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"I'm not afraid of him – he's dead."

"Perhaps not. Some believe he's still out there, awaiting an opportunity to return."

"Well, I for one don't believe it. I don't see how he could be. No, the old fossil's dead alright."

"What did you say?" For a moment, it seemed the twinkle had been replaced by steel in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Well, he must have been ancient, mustn't he – at least sixty."

The smile came back to Dumbledore's wrinkled countenance. "Nevertheless, I think it would be wise if you remained with your relatives for the time being, Harry. Your mother's protection resides in your aunt."

"No, that's alright. I'm not worried. I hope the Grangers invite me every year – this is super!" He resumed splashing along but even more exuberantly than before.

"Harry, I must caution you to take heed of my advice."

"I will. Thank you, Headmaster. I'm grateful you've–" Harry paused again, as if he'd suddenly realised something. "I mean, it's good of you to show interest in your students. My old Muggle headmaster didn't give a monkey's about me turning up obviously underfed and in rags with bruises on my arms, or my cousin and his friends ganging up on me day after day and making life hell so bad I wanted to die sometimes when I was little. He was a totally uncaring bastard, my old headmaster. I hate people like that, don't you?"

Harry continued cheerfully skipping along with Dumbledore stumbling after, unsure, for once, what to say, but Harry did. He'd planned his game strategy well. "Headmaster, I've just had an idea."

"Yes, Harry?"

For a moment, Harry thought the old man sounded slightly hoarse, but the boy was unmoved and pressed home his advantage like any good gamer. "Would you do something for me, Professor?"

"If it is within my powers."

"Would you tell the Grangers I'm too scared to return to my relatives on my own? And ask them if they'd consider if Hermione could stay with me for a couple of weeks? She's really smart and very good with magical things. I've learnt they won't beat me or starve me in front of a witness. And anyway, she'd watch out for me, and I'd watch out for her. Do you think they'd agree if you persuaded them my mother's magical sacrifice not only keeps me safe from the Dursleys' torture but also my friends?"

"That... I could persuade them somehow, I think, Harry."

 _Quest accomplished!_ "Thank you, sir. She we go back then?"

.

Who Needs Paradise?

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley waited silently for an hour at the bus stop in Bradford. Several buses passed before they accepted one, got on, then got off at the next stop. There they waited for another hour. Only when it grew dark did they return to the dingy hotel where they'd booked a filthy room so small there were no rats except themselves. There they sat and looked at the wallpaper until, exhausted, they fell asleep only to wake up the next morning to resume their punishment.

Meanwhile, at four, Privet Drive, Hermione stretched out on a towel on the lawn to sunbathe. "So how long are they away for, Harry?"

"Hard to say. I thought only a few days but they never tell me much at all. Sorry. I suppose we'll manage. There's tons of food in the freezer and Uncle Vernon left most of his money on the mantelpiece in case we need anything. We could go bowling if you like or to the movies – we have lots of video tapes I've never seen anyway, and stuff recorded off television. They got Dudley a fitness tape but it's not even opened. Then there's Aunt Petunia's dance instruction video. We could learn to dance if you like – you never know when it might come in handy."

"Yes, that would be nice."

"Then there are walks, or we could day trip anywhere you like in a flash using the Knight Bus. Do you like forests?"

Hermione rolled over towards him so quickly that her swimsuit got in a twist. "Oh, yes, Harry! I love forests!"

"Then there's climbing, funfairs, swimming, coach trips, aeroplane rides, and snack bars, restaurants and – Oh, libraries! Think of the books we could read? I know you love books, Hermione! And don't forget, in a week or two we have to visit Flourish and Blotts to get next year's books."

"Oh, Harry, isn't this just heaven!"

"Yes, Hermione, it is."

.

The Cursed Diary

As Harry and Hermione stepped into Flourish and Blotts at the end of the month, there were a few seconds when he wondered if the timing had changed. Then he glimpsed red hair through the crowd and guided Hermione in that direction.

"Oh, look, Harry, there's Ron. Is that his sister?"

Harry nodded. It was Ginny alright, standing very close to her brother and an old cauldron in which she'd placed a few purchases. But they weren't new books, that was obvious from their condition.

"Harry! Hermione!" cried Ron. "Hey, this is my sister Ginny who's starting at Hogwarts this year. Isn't she great!"

Ginny looked with polite interest at Harry as he was introduced, but didn't seem at all embarrassed. Hermione started chatting to her about what books she needed. Harry took the opportunity to prise Ron a few paces away.

"Ron, glad to see you're keeping a sharp eye out for your sister in here," said Harry, "pickpockets and scoundrels and suchlike, you know? Especially her books in that open cauldron."

"Absolutely," said Ron, straightening himself up.

"Don't let her out of your sight."

"Of course I won't, I'm her brother."

"I've heard some thieves have accomplices to create a diversion," continued Harry. "If there's any trouble, that's when you need to be extra vigilant."

"Really?"

"Just ignore everything but anyone who gets too close to her. They love places like this and they go for the most vulnerable-looking."

"Yeah, well, let them try. They won't get past me."

"She's very proud to have you as her brother, I can tell," said Harry, who truthfully had only observed her for a few seconds but Ron was blind to that fact.

"You think she is?" Ron's eyes glistened in the lantern light as he watched Ginny chatting animatedly with Hermione.

"I'm certain of it."

"Well, if it isn't Weasley!" came Draco's voice from their other side. "I suppose you're teary-eyed because your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for that lot."

Ron dropped his books into Ginny's cauldron and started towards Malfoy, but Harry grabbed the back of his jacket and breathed in his ear, "Keep your eye on Ginny, remember?"

"Ron!" said Mr Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's mad in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

"Lucius," said Mr Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr Malfoy. "All those raids ... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. Ron's fists clenched and Harry was glad to see he was keeping a close watch on any activity near his sister.

"Obviously not," said Lucius. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?'

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," said Mr Weasley.

"Clearly," said Mr Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr and Mrs Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley ... and I thought your family could sink no lower–"

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr Weasley had thrown himself at Mr Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell books came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"

Hagrid was wading towards them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy apart. Mr Weasley had a cut lip and Mr Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny's old transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you–"

"That book looks odd," Harry breathed in Ron's ear.

Lucius tried to pull himself out of Hagrid's grip but Ron yelled, "WAIT!"

As if it were red hot, Ron used two fingers to gingerly pull the old book out of Ginny's cauldron; it was clearly bulging oddly. "What have you done to my sister's book!"

Lucius struggled even more, but Hagrid's grip only tightened.

"Dad?" said Ron, holding out the book.

Mr Weasley took the book from Ron and opened it. He gasped. Within was a diary, and Mr Weasley wasted no time running his wand over it. "This has been tainted with Dark Magic!" he said in a loud, theatrical whisper, and in the expectant silence, everyone heard him.

There was pandemonium throughout the shop. Lucius's sleeve ripped away as he darted towards the exit, but tripped and his head fell heavily against a bookstand as he stumbled over, breaking several front teeth and smashing his wand. Nobody had noticed Harry's magic fingers twitch...

"You were brilliant, Ron!" cried Harry.

Ginny flung her arms around her brother. "You're the best ever, Ron!"

And he was.

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The Squeeze

The arrest of Lucius Malfoy was splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet the next day and his trial was covered a few days later when he was convicted of attempting to fatally curse Ginny Weasley who had only been saved by the quick wit and bravery of her brother Ronald. The fact that whatever curse had been put upon the diary had somehow been broken previously was played down and mangled by the newspaper to such an extent that, on the morning they all headed back to Hogwarts on the train, the Prophet was suggesting that Ron himself had removed the curse. A life sentence was announced for the head of the Malfoy family, much to Draco's humiliating disgrace.

At the opening feast, Harry was glad to see Sirius had returned for another year – although Dumbledore looked at him with a rather puzzled expression, almost as if he hadn't expected him to come back. Ginny was sorted into Gryffindor and sat close by Ron at the feast. Hannah had also come over to sit with Neville, while Hermione, of course, was never far from Harry.

The year went smoothly. No Dobby tried to jinx Harry. No Lockhart removed his bones. No students were petrified, and the Chamber of Secrets remained a closed footnote in the history of Hogwarts.

There was one noticeable change: by June, Harry had managed to capture Hermione's hand on more than one occasion.

"Harry! I'm only thirteen!" she hissed as his hand slipped into hers under the desk in Charms class, but she made no effort to resist.

"Nearly fourteen!" Harry whispered back, "and I'm nearly sixteen so it's perfect!"

"What?"

"Erm... I mean, I feel nearly sixteen sometimes, uuh... when I'm with you."

Hermione fell silent for a few seconds, then said, "I believe you, Harry. I've always felt you were very mature for your age."

Harry gave her hand a squeeze.

Hermione squeezed back.

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The Mistletoe

Third year began as wonderfully as its predecessors. With Sirius already pardoned, Harry knew there'd be no Dementors at Hogwarts, and Lucius in Azkaban could do nothing about prosecuting Buckbeak when it injured Draco. And with a 6th-year Harry helping her studies, Hermione did not need a Time-turner with all its associated stress.

During the week before Christmas in his third year, Harry came across Ron and Ginny huddled together under the mistletoe in a spare classroom. They had clearly been doing more than hug, for Ginny's hair was dishevelled and Ron's eyes were closed in a blissful trance. Harry backed out without them seeing him.

 _What have I done!_ he wondered. Back at the start of the game he'd used the Imperious curse to compel them to give each other the diluted love potion capsules and consume them. Those pellets would remain within their gut for a lifetime, gently releasing potion each day, but the intention had been only to bring them closer, more content with each other, so as to divert Ron from Hermione, Ginny from Harry, and Ron from suffering inferiority in Harry's shadow. _Had it?_ Overwhelmingly! Both of them were happier than he'd ever seen them before. They complemented, supported, and balanced each other out perfectly. But where could it lead?

He worried about it all afternoon, then, over dinner, it dawned on him that the game had not restarted, so he couldn't have broken any major quest.

"Harry?" whispered Hermione. "What's wrong?"

"It's Ron and Ginny... you don't suppose...?"

She smiled. "They're fine together, don't you think?"

"Yes, but..."

"Harry, for all your learning, you don't know much about the magical community, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one, Mr and Mrs Diggory are brother and sister, and Cedric turned out fine."

"Seriously?"

Hermione nodded. "Magical inheritance overrides genetic flaws. Sibling marriages are not common but they do happen and nobody takes any special notice."

"Wow! Good game!" Harry brightened up considerably.

"What? What did you say?"

"Uuh... well, most games have challenging obstacles and tend to block you, but imagine a magical game where everything sort of naturally works out for the best! Wouldn't that be great?"

"Erm... yes..." Hermione was looking at Harry very strangely, waiting for him to continue. A diversion was needed to get to the next level.

"I saw Ron and Ginny together under some mistletoe away from everyone else. I don't know how far they... I mean..."

Hermione nodded anxiously, her lips pinching together quite firmly. "Harry..."

Seeing her expression, he asked, "Is that bad?"

"You'd better show me."

They quit dinner soon after early and he took her to where he'd discovered Ron and Ginny earlier. He pointed at the bench on which they'd been sitting.

"So Ron was where exactly? And which way was he facing?"

"About here..." Harry sat down, checked the mistletoe was directly overhead as he'd seen it earlier then turned himself. "Is the exact position significant?"

"Yes, it's extremely important. ... And Ginny was opposite him over here?" Hermione gestured towards the far end of the short bench.

"No, no, that's the point – they were much, much closer, both sort of squirmed together really tightly under the mistletoe. Why are you asking? Are they–?"

"Were they like this?" Without warning, Hermione sat down as far forward as possible and hugged Harry with a fierce intensity. Her lips brushed softly against his. Instinctively he closed his eyes... Game Complete!

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The Long Hug

Harry sat in a daze for the next few minutes. Hermione was still in his arms and her mouth still gentle as it explored his. Deep down he knew this had been his vision all along so why hadn't the game ended so he could finish Snape's Christmas... "homework?" he murmured aloud.

Hermione's chest rose and fell against him with her sighs. "Homework? Yes, you're right, of course. I wish..."

"What do you wish, Hermione?" said Harry, still holding her close.

"Well, the common room is so noisy and has no reference books at hand – the reading room is not much better. The library is best for lesson assignments but we hardly dare whisper with Madam Pince glaring at us. How are we supposed to work together? This classroom is sometimes in use. I long for the summer when we can sit out in the grounds and put our heads together without– oh!" – Harry grinned and Hermione rolled her eyes – "I meant, well, you know what I meant."

She fell silent for a while, then, "Harry, you remember that first day on the train when you asked me if I'd be your study buddy?"

"Yeah. I just assumed Hogwarts would do that."

"Did you?"

For a long time Harry did not answer, then, "No."

"No?"

"Hermione, when we met I liked you so much I was anxious to make friends with you. I made up the idea that Hogwarts had study buddies."

"Oh, Harry, that's so sweet..."

The happy couple continued their embrace and only parted when the wooden bench became too hard for comfort.

"Never mind, we'll be home for Christmas in a couple of days," Hermione said. "Perhaps we'll find another reading room next year."

"I've got a better idea," said Harry. "Come on."

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Noble Needs

Harry led Hermione up to the seventh floor corridor. "An elf told me about this room," he began.

"What room, Harry?"

"You have to visualise it as you walk back and forth three times. So, we want a couple of desks and chairs, a bookshelf maybe? But you can't just have anything you want – you have to actually need it. You choose, Hermione, you're better at thinking these things out."

"Right. ... What we need, you said?"

Harry nodded so she frowned up a storm of concentration then began to pace for quite a while...

A rather plain, uninteresting door appeared in the wall. Hermione's eyes gleamed. "Just how I imagined it!"

She led the way into the room and as the door faded into the wall behind them, they gaped at what they saw. Ron's words, 'cosy but spacious' came to Harry's mind. A vast array of bookshelves covered the walls forming a small library. A friendly fire glowed in front of a large comfy-looking couch beside which stood swing-around writing surfaces. Hermione ran forward.

"It's the best of both worlds, you see, plonking herself down and rotating one of the desk tops in front of her. "Comfort and practicality."

"Genius, is what it is!" Harry cried happily as he took the other side of the couch.

"And they slide inwards to join up when we're working together." Hermione demonstrated, and the crouch shrunk them nearer. She signalled away towards one of the far bookshelves and obediently it rolled to her side on silent brass castors. "It operates beautifully!"

"All this came out of your imagination?" smiled Harry.

"It's pure heaven. Imagine a whole world like this where everything works out wonderfully wherever you go." Hermione sighed.

"Yeah, just imagine," grinned Harry, hoping the game would never end.

"Oh well, it's nice to dream, but that would be impossible, Harry."

"Why?"

"Well, some of the exceptions to Gamp's Law, of course: using magic you can never create valuables, food, or true love."

Despite the warm fire, Harry froze. "Say that again."

Hermione gazed into his eyes and smiled. "Using magic you can never produce things like gold or jewels or food, or... true love."

"Oh," was all Harry could say. He became aware now of how close Hermione was; their legs were touching. Something was not right. How could this be a game when there was all this food he'd consumed over the last two years? And many Galleons spent? And...

Hermione had averted her face and, perhaps it was the proximity of the flames, but her cheeks were flushing a deep rosy red. She began unbuttoning her shirt.

With a gasp, Harry pulled back a little against the side arm behind him. "Hermione... perhaps we should wait... talk about..."

Doubt touched her eyes as she looked up, and she breathed, "Don't you want to, Harry?"

"It's not that, but..."

"What then? Is it me?"

He shook his head. The love potion he'd force-fed her in the mint chew was at the forefront of his mind, but he couldn't tell her that. If this _wasn't_ a game then it was all so horribly wrong.

"It's you I'm thinking of Hermione. I want to do the right thing. Let's wait a while, give us time to uumm, think some more and..."

"Oh, Harry, you're so charming!" Hermione flung her arms around him, squeezed him tight, then released him. "Of course, you're right as usual. I'll always trust you. You've been there for me from the start."

She turned the writing surfaces away and stood up, clearly embarrassed. Harry rose with her.

"I feel such an idiot," she said, doing up her top button.

"Hermione, you're the most wonderful person I ever met. I'm the one who's been an idiot. I'm not sure what to do. I need to go to the library, look something up." He turned to leave.

"Harry, all the Hogwarts library books can be reached from these shelves, you just have to need it. What subject do you– oh! Surely, you know about...?"

"Erm, yeah, just need to be sure about uuh..."

Harry dashed off towards the shelving, thinking hard of what he required. A column of shelves inched towards him; one book protruded: _Amortentia: Its Variations and its Antidotes_. He seized it eagerly and began turning pages furiously. He had to break the enchantment he'd placed upon Hermione; had to free her. He'd been a fool to believe it was merely a video game. Somehow he'd really come back to his earlier life.

A chair nudged the back of his knees and he sank down gratefully upon it. Every antidote was quite complex – some of them extremely so, but to produce one that could be slowly released daily to counteract the capsule, how on Earth was he to do that?

He ended his wild scrabbling. The book needed a thorough study. _Needed!_ Knowing the room would provide whatever was really needed, he turned to the start of the first chapter and began to read more carefully:

 _Amortentia is one of the most fragile of potions. The slightest contamination will render it ineffective, so care must be taken when..._

The volume slid from his hand onto the floor. How could he have been so dumb? Ron and Ginny had each consumed the pure, uncontaminated capsule, but Hermione... he'd mixed it with the soft mint chew. It could never have had any effect on Hermione at all! Then how...?

He turned. Hermione had extended the couch once more to show she'd accepted distance between them. She was sat upon it, softly crying despite herself. Harry went to her. As she looked up, he saw what could only be true lovelight shining in her eyes. He smiled. The couch seemed plenty long enough now for the next quest... which they could share together.  
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The End

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _In case you were wondering, Ron and Ginny married and lived together happily ever – as did Harry and Hermione of course!_ :)

 _This was not a Dumbledore bash. I accept the Dumbledore character as written. He was badly flawed but not evil. He did love his sister but he was never a good carer (JKR's words.) The same applies to how he treated Harry. Dumbledore was right to leave him with the Dursleys but he should have kept a close watch and intervened at their maltreatment during Harry's earliest years. He should have kept Harry better informed and definitely not isolated him from his friends at the start of OoP. He had good reason, but he should have found a way to provide support, company, and counselling for the young boy after his traumatic ordeal. But then the story would not have been anywhere near as good, would it?_ :)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews and support. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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